


Ironstrike

by spicedrobot



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Asexual Character, Bottom Tekhartha Zenyatta, Breaking Celibacy Vows, Dirty Talk, Fluff, Human Zenyatta, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Limbs, M/M, Mirror Sex, Other, Robot Sex, Role Reversal, Teasing, Top Genji Shimada, Vaginal Fingering, Valve Plugs (Transformers)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23632486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicedrobot/pseuds/spicedrobot
Summary: A place for spicy microfics I've written in 2020 inspired by prompts on twitter. Pairings/content mentions at the start of each chapter.
Relationships: Doomfist: The Successor | Akande Ogundimu/Tekhartha Zenyatta, Genji Shimada/Tekhartha Zenyatta, Lynx Seventeen/Aleksandra "Zarya" Zaryanova
Comments: 12
Kudos: 69





	1. Lynx-17/Zarya, asexual partner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lynx is ace, but that doesn't stop them from fulfilling Zarya's needs.

When Lynx first met her, nearly two meters of pure muscle and withering glare, they never would’ve imagined what a softie she was beneath it all. Armor stripped, body relaxed (well, mostly, she kept tensing and flexing into their touch, how cute) her flushed face framed by sweaty bubblegum pink, watching them with her mouth half-parted.

“What are you looking at?” she murmurs. She’s used to being watched, they think, but never quite like this.

“I’m merely observing,” Lynx says, their hand finally straying from her chest, reddened and straining from their touch, to the shivering rows of her abs. She’s ticklish, and they let their hands tease more quiet sounds from her on the way to their true aim.

She’s flushed here too, the color different than her hair but no less enticing. She tosses her head back when they touch between her thighs. Their smooth thumb circles her clit idly, and she bites down a gasp. 

“You’re so wet already. Have you not touched yourself while you were away?”

Now the frown they’re so used to seeing returns, and her eyes avert. 

“That’s none of your business.”

They track her expressions carefully, enjoy them, how complex they are, how wildly they shift.

“I don’t know why you fight yourself. Though I can’t say the struggle isn’t entertaining.”

They move their hand more quickly, the complaint on her lips falling away as they draw their other hand beneath the first, feeling her heat, teasing against her opening.

“Is this just a game to you?”

“Ah, you wound me. You know how I care for you, Miss Zaryanova.” Without means to smirk, the bot still manages it.

Her gasps quicken as their hands do, a finger dipping inside her so easily. She is not a hard woman to please, not that Lynx has much experience with them, with human pleasure in general. Not normally their speed. But something about Aleksandra, her grit, her stature, her blush, makes them want to touch, makes them want to see more of her in any way they can get.

And that’s just fine with them. For her, they’re willing to play this game.


	2. Genyatta, breaking vows

Zenyatta doesn’t have vows, not anymore. He had relinquished asceticism when he had left the order. But that old life lingers in hundreds of small, innocuous ways, unobtrusive until they aren’t.

He had met so many people as a wanderer, learned them, loved them. There were, surprisingly, no shortage of potential partners. Zenyatta had blamed habit when he drew their hands away time and time again with a gentle dip of his head, array flickering in apology. 

“God, Zenyatta, has no one touched you like this before?”

That was...until Shimada Genji.

Zenyatta supposes it must seem that way, squirming as he is on Genji’s fingers, unable to keep himself quiet. He doesn’t remember touch this vividly, deep, sharply building heat flooding his systems. It feels like something he has to chase, chase or lose, undisciplined in this flavor of desperation. He presses Genji’s forearm until his fingers slide out of him, climbs onto Genji’s body—only for his lover to ease him back onto the sheets instead. Genji smiles gently, grinds their bodies together, both slick and panting, one flushed, the other steaming.

“Like this...please,” Genji says softly. 

“You need not be so gentle.” He cups the side of Genji’s face, savoring the texture of his shaven cheek, the lattice of his scars. “This is not my first time.”

But it feels like the first: Genji easing into him, slow and steady, watching Zenyatta for any sign of distress, jaw clenched against his own heightened pleasure. Zenyatta’s never felt needier, thighs spread, legs sealing behind Genji’s back and holding tight. 

He can’t believe he’d ever given this up. But he’d never had to give up someone like Genji. 

And, Zenyatta thinks, that makes all the difference.


	3. Doomfist/Zenyatta, care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doomfist + Zenyatta. Doomfist is a medic. Slight cw for missing limbs.

“You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

Zenyatta can’t respond, not at first. His body registers stimuli sluggishly, set by set: a hard chill along his back, energy levels nearly depleted. He can’t move his legs.

When his array onlines, grainy and static-lined, he takes in the source of the voice. Tall and broad with a shaved head, clothed in white. The monitors at his back outline the man in blue. An angel, is Zenyatta’s first thought, especially when he smiles.

“I...have been better,” Zenyatta manages, looking downward. “But I will recover.” 

He notices the blinking on his HUD just as his lower half falls into view. The thin patient’s gown covering him is bunched at his waist, revealing the charred remains of his thighs, only sluggishly leaking oil and dirty sheet extending beyond.

“We couldn’t recover your legs, but our mechanic is en route.” A large hand settles on Zenyatta’s, which rests limp upon the examination table. It is warm. “You are strong, Master Tekhartha. Strong enough to survive the chaos of this war.”

Zenyatta can’t remember the last time someone had tried to comfort him. Perhaps when he had been among the Shambali, his master’s constant shadow.

“I...thank you,” Zenyatta says softly. “You know me, but I do not yet know you.”

“Akande Ogundimu, medic.”

There’s something in Akande’s voice that he can’t quite pinpoint. 

“Something tells me that you are much more than a medic.”

Akande huffs, not unkind.

“We cannot all be masters.”

Akande has not moved his hand away, and Zenyatta cannot help but savor his warmth.

“Please, call me Zenyatta.”


	4. Genyatta, mirror sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For my raffle winner on twitter, who wanted human genyatta + mirrors!

Genji had enjoyed it when he was younger, watching his partners pose and shift in front of mirrors. Different faces each night, often more than one, moving in all the tantalizing ways he liked, performing just for him. They knew he watched them as fiendishly as he watched himself, all vying to become the favorite of the spoiled young master who had looks, wealth, and influence in spades.

There are many things he regrets about his youth, but some penchants linger regardless. Thankfully, Zenyatta is kind enough to humor him. That he had managed to find his perfect match in a former monk never ceases to amuse and thrill.

Zenyatta doesn’t pose. He doesn’t know his angles, what will be pleasing, but that hardly matters. Genji can’t draw his eyes away. Zenyatta has always mesmerized him, each movement purposeful, graceful. Genji yearns to strip away that stalwart mindfulness each time, lacing those tempered motions with desperation. 

Zenyatta shifts and twists, alluring and sinuous, but it’s not for Genji. He chases his pleasure, chases Genji’s, but his eyes never quite focus on their reflections.

“Don’t be shy, Zenyatta,” Genji whispers into his throat, bites it, tastes sweat and sweetness. 

He drags Zenyatta upright, both on their knees before the mirror. Zenyatta’s throat is peppered with kiss marks, but still he isn’t satisfied, sucking more into his skin. The view quickens his hands, groping wherever he can reach, plucking Zenyatta’s nipples, tracing his sides. He sinks into him, watching, always watching, as Zenyatta gasps and shifts back against him. His lover’s body was flushed from ear to foot even before he had eased Zenyatta onto the bed. If only he had thought to set up a video feed, but nothing will have him break the moment now. 

Zenyatta is oddly quiet, but he hasn’t stopped moving, rocking his hips to meet each thrust, craning forward, chest arched. Genji twists his arm around Zenyatta’s waist, forces his back flush against his body.

“I haven’t seen you like this before,” Genji says. 

“This is— _ah_ —a new experience.”

Zenyatta tucks his head into his shoulder, neck a long, exposed line. He grips the arm around his waist, anchoring himself as Genji’s pace speeds, jostling them forward. The mirror fogs with their breathing, their images softening, dreamlike in the candlelight.

Genji loves this, position deep and satisfying, feeling and seeing Zenyatta’s hips and thighs begin to tremble while his insides flex and grip his cock, tight and perfect.

“Getting close?” Genji says into his skin, drags his thumb just beneath Zenyatta’s glans, light, teasing.

The response is immediate, Zenyatta drawing tight, arching, a surprising swear spilling from his lips. His lashes flutter, and suddenly he’s meeting Genji’s gaze in the mirror, ochre irises drowned in black, mouth rounding on a wordless note.

“Good boy,” Genji chokes out. “Show me.”

He’d never get away with this talk, Zenyatta apt to return it tenfold when Genji least expected it. But he can’t help it. 

Zenyatta is so fun to tease.

It takes only a single proper stroke to have Zenyatta spilling over his fist, long, thick ropes punctuated by small, suppressed whimpers. He can already tell by Zenyatta’s short, round brows drawing downward that he’s in for a punishment, but Zenyatta doesn’t act on it now, only flattens his hips to Genji’s front, grinding for the rest of his pleasure, red-faced and gasping.

His gaze finally leaves their reflection when Zenyatta draws off of him, and Genji groans at the loss of contact. His cock, violently red and unspent, lazily ruts against warm, glistening skin.

The room upends, Zenyatta following Genji back onto the mattress, chest to chest, hip to hip, Zenyatta taking Genji’s cock in hand and angling it back against his ass. There’s a mischievous quirk to Zenyatta’s lips, subtle but very much present. 

Genji knows he’s in for it now, but he still can’t keep the stupid grin off his face.


End file.
